


Whispers in the Dark

by anotherwinchesterfangirl



Series: Song Prompt Fics [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 16:37:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6247537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherwinchesterfangirl/pseuds/anotherwinchesterfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam surprises the reader with a midnight picnic under the stars.</p><p>For the song prompt "Smother Me" by The Used.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispers in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for @balthazars-muse‘s 30 First Dates with Sam project, for which my prompt was stargazing. Also, a bit inspired by Smother Me by The Used, which I received as a song prompt from @mishasmuffin because it just seemed like the perfect sex-under-the-stars song. The title comes from the song of the same name by Mumford & Sons.

You’re just slipping into sleep when you feel a hand on your shoulder, shaking you awake. Your eyes fly open and on instinct you reach for your pistol, which is on your nightstand, but someone has a hold of your wrist. Adrenaline surges through you, and you start to struggle against whoever is holding you down.

“Y/N,” a low voice whispers in the dark. “Y/N, it’s me _it’smeit’sme_.”

You exhale a sharp breath and drop back against your pillow. “Jesus fucking Christ, Sam, I could have shot you.”

He laughs, low and throaty. “I’m sorry. Come on. Get up.”

“What? Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just want to show you something.”

“I’m sleeping.” Now you’re grumpy, probably scowling. No matter how much you like Sam, you do not like being woken up from precious sleep for no reason.

You couldn’t see him lean forward in the dark, but suddenly you feel the soft press of his lips against yours, and your scowl melts into a small smile. It’s not the first time you’ve kissed Sam Winchester, but you’re still a little surprised a little by how it makes you feel—light and hot at once, treasured and breathless and _home_.

He breaks away after a lingering moment, leans his forehead against yours, and whispers against your lips, “You’ve barely been in bed for an hour, come on, please? I want to show you something.”

“Okay,” you relent, kicking off the sheet. Sam grabs your hand and pulls you to your feet.

He tosses your shoes at you, and you hastily pull them on as he snatches up your comforter and drapes it over your shoulders. Now that your eyes are adjusting to the dark you can see that he’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie and his running shoes. He slides his hand back into yours and tugs you toward the door.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” His smile is so bright that you can see it even in the dark.

* * *

About twenty minutes from the bunker, in the opposite direction of town, Sam pulls the impala off the side of the road, parks, and climbs out. He’s around to your door before you’ve even gathered up the blanket that’s surrounding you, and he pulls you out by the hand.

“Where are we?” you ask, squinting around looking for anything familiar that would mark this place for you, but you can’t see a thing; it’s too dark.

“Nowhere,” Sam says. You can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s smirking a little.

“Where’s nowhere?”

He laughs. “Just a spot I passed on my run the other day. It seemed perfect.”

“Perfect for what?” He doesn’t respond, just pulls you along by the hand, his other arm wrapped around a quilt and a plastic grocery store bag. You follow him in between two trees and into a clearing.

He stops walking and pulls you up against him. “Look up,” he whispers. You do, and then you gasp. Above you is a massive expanse of inky black sky scattered with what seems like millions of stars; shining brighter than you’ve ever seen before.

“Wow,” you breath, leaning into Sam a little bit. “It’s beautiful.”

Sam looks down at you in the circle of his arms and smiles. “Not as beautiful as you.”

He steps away before you can object to his compliment and takes a flashlight from his pocket, sweeps the light over the ground briefly before shaking out the blanket he’s carrying and spreading it over the grass. He starts taking things out of the bag he’s holding—a bottle of wine and a package of oreos—and lays them on the blanket.

“I brought snacks.” He smiles at you expectantly, and he’s so cute you can’t keep from grinning too.

You toe off your shoes and sit down on the blanket, keeping your comforter wrapped around your shoulders. It’s early summer, but the night air is chilly. Your feet are bare, and all you’re wearing is yoga pants and a tank top.

“Um, I might have forgotten wine glasses,” he says, and you both laugh. It’s a cheap bottle of wine, one you’d get at a gas station, with a screw off top, and once he opens it, you just pass it back and forth, taking sips in turn, munching on cookies in between.

You feign disgust when you see Sam pop a whole oreo into his mouth. “Who eats oreos like that? You’re doing it wrong.” He watches you twist yours apart, scrape the cream out with your teeth, and then eat the chocolate cookies one at a time. Then he laughs, crams two more whole oreos in his mouth, and grabs the bottle of wine from you to wash them down.

You’ve always been pretty reserved, a necessary method of self-preservation in your line of work, but not around Sam. Something about him puts you at ease, makes you want to open up to him. Nothing else matters when you’re with him.

You lean back on your arms, enjoying the comfortable silence, and glance over at Sam out of the corner of your eye. A tiny part of you can’t believe you’re sitting here next to Sam Winchester, the man that conquered the devil and stopped the apocalypse. The man that, along with his brother, tears across the continental United States killing any and every evil thing in his path. You’d heard about the Winchesters for ages before you met them; they are practically legends in the hunting community for being reckless and dangerous. But you were always a little intrigued by the thought of them—two brothers that hunted together. You wished you had someone in your life that you were that close with; you almost always hunted alone. So when you ran into them tracking down a coven of witches east of Indianapolis, you were actually a little starstruck. So much so that you hadn’t quite been on your game, and you’d gotten hexed like an idiot. Since you lived on the road and didn’t have anywhere safe to go, Sam and Dean took you back to the bunker with them to recover, and you’ve been there ever since.

When you first moved in, you helped them work a case, did research from the bunker while you continued to wait for the spell to wear off. You loved research and lore almost as much as Sam did; you knew it was your strength. Afterward, Sam and Dean asked you to stay and hunt with them, and to your own surprise, you said yes.

You fell into their routine easily, working cases, staying a few days at the bunker in between. You and Dean got along fine, but you and Sam had an instant connection and lots in common—most notably a thirst for learning and a shared distaste for licorice as a movie-watching snack. Sam showed you through the Men of Letters library, you remember the proud smile he wore as he showed you his meticulous cataloging system, and the two of you developed a bit of a friendly competition about who was the better researcher, faster, most efficient. The day you found the answer to a case quicker than he did was a special sort of victory for you.

That was the night you first slept together. Dean was out, probably hustling some poor rich college kid or flirting with that blonde bartender that he’d been trying to get into bed for weeks, and you and Sam had elected to stay in, exhausted after the ganking the monster of the week. A nightcap of whiskey had turned into a friendly game of “I Have Never” which turned into Sam kissing you goodnight and then eating you out right there on the library table.

You’ve been sleeping together since then, kind of sporadically, and Dean knows. It’s fine. But you’ve been sensing a little more under the surface. That it’s more than just sex—to both of you. Sam has always been considerate and caring and kind, but now it seems like he is even more so. You catch him looking at you when he thinks you won’t notice, leaning closer over a book to point something out, kissing you whenever Dean isn’t looking. And the sex has become more…intentional. Not just a way to get off, but a way to connect. You can’t get enough of him; you’re afraid you’re really falling for him, which in this life can be such a risk, but you know it’s too late now. And you’re starting to think that Sam might be feeling the same way. You have a little flutter in the pit of your stomach that tells you that this is the reason you’re sitting on this blanket side by side.

“So, a midnight picnic under the stars. Is this like…a date?” you ask when most of the wine is gone, and you’re feeling warm and happy.

“I think it is,” he says, popping another cookie into his mouth and smiling.

You push the half eaten package of oreos out of the way and flop down onto your back. Sam spreads out beside you, long and lean, and crosses his ankles. You throw half of your comforter over him, though his feet stick out the bottom, and wiggle closer for extra warmth, your head resting lightly against his bicep. Sam feels your shiver and stretches an arm around your shoulders, tugging you in even closer. He points out  a few constellations with one hand in the air, the fingers of his other hand trailing up and down your bare arm.

“Y/N?” he asks after a quiet moment.

“Yeah?”

“I just…” He fidgets with nerves. “I’m not…I’m not good at this. Any relationship I’ve ever had has turned out…not so great. But I just…I really like you, and I don’t know where this is going, but I know I want it to go somewhere. I want this to be more than just…you know. I want to be more than that to you.”

“Sam.” You prop up on your elbow and look down at him, biting your bottom lip. “Me too.” You both still there, caught in the moment, the air is still and quiet all around you, just a faint sound of crickets in the distance. He slowly brings a hand up to your face, pushing your hair behind your ear, tugs your lip from between your teeth with his thumb. His face is shadowed, but the moon reflects off his eyes and his teeth, and he dimples at you quick before craning his neck up to kiss you.

It’s gentle and languid soft. You sigh into it, and his arms slip around you and he pulls you on top of him. You lay against his chest, one arm wrapped behind his neck and the fingers of your other hand twisting into his hair as your mouths fit together, all hot breath and wet tongues gliding against each other. He presses a hand into the small of your back, and your whole body tingles with being held against him like this. You’ve had sex probably a dozen times now, and you’ve kissed way more than that, but this feels different somehow. You can’t pinpoint why, but you lean into it, closing your eyes.

You break away to gasp a breath, and Sam’s hands are wandering—one under your shirt, cupping your breast, thumb brushing over your hardened nipple, the other slipped down into the back of your pants, over the curve of your ass. He pushes your hips down, grinding you against his lower abs, and you can feel him hard inside his sweats, and a hot rush of arousal blooms between your legs.

You move your lips down to his throat, close your eyes and rub your face across the soft stubble on his jawline and it makes you shiver. You grind against him one more time, hard, and then wiggle down between his legs until your knees find the blanket. You pull his sweats and boxers down past his hips, and he groans low in his chest when you wrap your hand around his cock, slicking your palm with precome from the tip. After a few strokes, you lean forward and take him in your mouth, slowly swirl your tongue around his length, humming with pleasure at the silky hardness of him against your tongue. You wrap one hand around the portion of him that you can’t fit in your mouth, your fingers brushing up against his balls just a little, and his hand grips your hair lightly as you start to bob up and down, hollowing your cheeks a little.

He doesn’t let you suck him off for very long; his hands find your wrists and tug you up after just a few minutes. He brushes your hair out of your face, kisses the taste of himself out of your mouth, and then gently rolls you over onto your back. Planting a strong forearm on either side of your head, he gently kisses your neck, your ear, pauses to suck hard and long at the thin skin over your collarbone. You’re sure Dean will tease about the mark tomorrow.

Sam’s hands push up under your tank top, and he leans back for a moment to pull it over your head. You shiver as the cool air hits your bare breasts, goosebumps blossoming all along your arms and down your belly, but it’s quickly replaced by Sam’s hot breath and tongue as he sucks your nipple into his mouth and rolls it between his tongue and his teeth. Long fingers find their way between your legs, slip through the wetness soaking your folds and you’re gasping and panting, your hips bucking up against his hand as they search for friction. 

He rubs lightly over your clit. “Oh, Sam. _Sam_.” Your voice is high pitched and breathy, desperate. You feel his lips curl against your skin as he smiles. He slides two fingers down to your entrance, slower and gentler than he’s ever been with you before, and presses them inside easily. His movement is limited because your pants are still mostly on, and he sits back with a grunt to pull them off.

You lean up a bit to pull at his hoodie, and when he tosses it aside you run your hands down over his shoulders and across his chest, down to his navel. You’re both naked now, with just the stars and the trees and each other. Sam leans forward and kisses you, pushing you back down to the blanket with the weight of his body and cushioning your fall with his hands on your back. You can feel the hair on his chest against your bare skin, a little sweat damp and warm. How he’s sweating in this chill air, you have no idea, but you wrap your arms around his back and hold him close to you for warmth.

He kisses you long and deep, pushing his tongue into your mouth, until you’re gasping for more. You can feel his cock, hard and heavy, throb against the inside of your thigh.

“ _Sam_ , I...” you say, needy.

“I know, baby,” he breathes into your ear.

You’re trembling everywhere with how much you want him, can’t keep your legs from shaking as he lines up with your entrance and slides into you, holding you so close to him that it blocks out everything else. He’s all you can see and hear and feel and touch. He’s on you and in you and all around you. He’s the very air you’re breathing, sharp and fast in and out of your lungs, every breath better than the last.

He starts to move—pulling nearly all the way out before pushing back in again, slow. You can feel the drag of every thick inch of him and it makes your eyes roll back in your head a bit. You press your head back into the blanket and push your hips up to meet his as he pumps in and out of you, so slow you can barely stand it. You wrap your legs around his hips, trying to urge him faster by pressing your feet into his ass, but he keeps his unhurried pace, kisses you just as slowly, capturing all your little gasping cries with his mouth. He intertwines his fingers with yours against the blanket, leans down and whispers in your ear, “You are so beautiful,” and your whole body flushes hot.

You’re coiling tighter, just a fraction at a time, as he continues his leisurely thrusting, dragging his lips everywhere, over your ear, your jaw, your throat, your mouth. Your breath begins to hitch as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge, and he knows you’re nearly there. He’s grunting with the effort of holding himself back, squeezes your hand in a death grip as he shifts his weight back and gets his other arm under your leg and draws your knee up to your chest. The change in angle has his pelvic bone pressing hard against your clit at the top of his thrusts, which are finally coming faster. His breath is hot on your ear as he whispers, “Come on, baby _baby fuck_.” His hips stutter, and he drags up hard against you, curling over you as he reaches his peak. The pressure on your clit is all you needed, and stars explode in front of your eyes and your whole body seizes up under him, clenching hard around his cock, your fingers digging into his shoulder. He holds you tight against him, rocks you through it as your orgasm goes on and on, and when you start to start to catch your breath he kisses your lips, your eyelids, your forehead. He pulls out and rolls to his side and pulls you into him, your back to his chest, and nuzzles his face into your hair.

You’re just starting to doze when you feel Sam shift behind you. “We should go,” he whispers. “It’s getting cold.”

You groan and open your eyes reluctantly, scrunching your nose as you realize you still have a sticky mess between your thighs. Sam lets you clean up with his boxers and pulls his sweatpants back on commando. He gathers up all the items, wrapping you in your comforter again to keep you warm, and leads you to the car. The ride home is companionably quiet, your hand in his as he drives, his thumb stroking over your knuckles, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

When you get back to the bunker, Sam doesn’t let you go to your own room, but pulls you to his room instead. He tosses you one of his t-shirts to change into and pulls a fresh pair of boxer briefs from his dresser drawer.

“Thanks, Sam,” you say as you crawl into bed beside him. “That was the best date ever.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispers into your hair.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated! :)


End file.
